I Am Tangent
by RunAwayFromNormal
Summary: My band acts like children on playgrounds at parks in Brandon between competitions. This is what made me grow up. The story of how marching band changed my life.
1. Prologue

I could try to explain, but I know it probably wouldn't work. I'm just gonna tell my story, and if you read it, thanks a lot. If you don't, I'm not losing any sleep. This is all true. This is my story. And it's my life. It may not be exact on the days and the order, but it is what happened, and it's all you need to know.

**Prologue**

It is March. It has been roughly eight months since I became a part of something bigger than a school activity, something more significant than a bunch of musicians playing together. I say it so many times with my best friends and we all agree that we love band more than life, band rocks, can't wait until band camp next year. I met people who knew themselves; I met people who I aspire to be. I met people that showed me the vastness of the world, in a group of only about a hundred fifty. I learned the value of commitment and passion, and the difference between the two. I discovered how one person can have an effect, whether they know it or not. I realized the tremendous bond that comes with time spent, fun had, shows developed, jokes made, conversations discussed, and chances taken, with people you never would have guessed. There are things I know I will never forget, for different reasons, and there are things that I believe, over the course of time, will fade, because sometimes that just what has to happen for a person to grow and change. And now, almost eight months later, I even have to wonder if what happened could have actually, possibly, really happened. Something I never gave _one second_ of thought to a year ago changed my life in a matter of weeks, although I didn't fully realize it until the season was far done and gone. But as the months pass, I realize, that band is not my life. Band is just an incredibly large part of it. Band is not who I am. Band is what made me who I am, and it is what will continue to make me into who I will become over the next three years.

But the following is what I was before. This was me as an eighth grader, bored, dead set against marching band. I'd seen those "geeks" on the practice field during the heat of summer, and every morning in the cold before school. I would have _hated_ to be them.

January 2006 was high school registration time. An assortment of extracurricular groups had come to visit us and campaign their activity. The eighth grade band was in chairs by section, thought today without instruments, and all in various positions of slump.

In came two guys in band sweatshirts who told us they were the drum majors. They walked over to the last row of chairs, where us percussionists were sitting down for once. Both went along the line of us 8 and shook our hands, introducing themselves and proclaiming they would lead us should we choose to join marching band, and we should. Dane, short and portly, piercing blue eyes, hair plastered down like the kid in Harry Potter movies (even though in the books it clearly states how unruly and sticky-uppy it is.) Nick was taller, walked flat and duck footed, had curly brown hair and brown eyes, and a heavily acne scarred face. As the two got to me, each looked at me straight, and I could see his passion for band. I felt an odd need to prove to them that I was good enough, that I was maybe better than the rest of my percussion mates. It was strange. Either these people would never talk to me again, or these people would become important figures in my life. My mind was shifting.

High school band director Mr. Smith but called Smitty by everyone except administration walked in with a collection of band kids, representatives from each class. He set up the VCR/TV at the front of the room, and put in a tape. We all watched silently, as tiny blue figures formed patterns and played tunes; their performance. Someone on the drum line fell. Mistake. It was quickly resurrected, but it went to show, 'What if that's me?' After the video, Nick and Dane joined Smitty and the others at the front, as everyone introduced themselves and began their crusade to persuade us to join marching band.

It was all a blur of "Marching band is so much fun, it's not that hard getting up early, you guys should all totally stay in band and be in marching band. Trust me it's great."

I thought they were all either lying and were incredible losers, or marching band really was that enjoyable. My mind shifted further.

The bell rang, and 6th period band filed out. Would I really hate to be them? Maybe I could try it... just for freshman year. If it is that horrible, I can just quit. My mind stopped shifting. What the hell, I'll do it.

I'm still in the process of writing the rest of my experiences. It's kind of amazing how long ago these things were, but how I remember them as if they were yesterday. Thanks for reading, sorry about any grammatical type errors. I appreciate anything you have to say.


	2. Starting Off with a Bang

May is for the girls, and June has slipped away. By the time it got to August, everything had changed. The setting summer sun and such made silhouettes for night. Who knew that 8 years later, kindergarten colors were still right. --

By the way, my reference farther down is to Tom Delonge's Speech on Love on YouTube. It is kind of nice no matter your opinion on him, no matter if you don't even know who he is. If you happen to care, I would tell you to watch it.

Whatever.

**Chapter One- Hey You**

I am not incredibly secure. I am a good person, and I know that deep down, everyone is. I just wish more of them would do and say good-people things than what the reality is. I am quiet. I do not speak often unless I have known you forever. My head is often empty, and I would like more than anything for that to be okay. To just exist, and let the world keep spinning, and not complicate things with words. Unfortunately, that is not the case. Usually, people expect lots of conversation, and they are expecting to be able to understand.

I try, but far too many thoughts go through my head, and not nearly enough words come out of my mouth.

**I hate roller coasters with a passion. Sure, they are entertaining for some and they give a thrill. But the reason that they are so frightening to me is their singular albeit complete power of control. Once you strap yourself in by your own will, you give yourself up totally. You are incapable of anything but screaming for mercy. Should you change your mind, there is no hope. No hope, except to hold on as tight as possible, let your voice explode so your heart does not, close your eyes, breathe deep, and wait for it to be over. No hope until the end when you can feel like you have conquered, though thousands have done it before you, and will do it after you. No hope...**

June was gently sloping downward, something that caused great sadness. Summer had so far not been full of memories and fun, doing wild and crazy things with people held dear to the heart. As I imagine summer nights, it is more of what they _used _to be like; playing eternally outside with neighbors and friends, the humid air that made your skin sticky, the sun setting and the sky gradually getting darker, having not a single care in the world. Riding bikes to the pool with a towel over the shoulder, drying in the air on the way home. Or summer nights as I imagine they _should_ be. Riding in some convertible with best friends and boyfriends, laughing and singing, aren't we all so cool. It is so easy to put things off, and having the time of my life was no exception.

The particular night of Monday, June 19 was spent alone on the deck with a glass of lemonade and summer school World History homework. A phone call, a message, a date and time written on the calendar. My soirée into drum line would begin Thursday at one.

**I was being strapped in, safety belt, restraining bar, all the clicks and snaps. It sounded like a good idea at the time.**

Lunch at my beloved Big City Burrito on Thursday did absolutely nothing to comfort the anxiety I had begun to feel that morning. What had I signed up for? I didn't know what was going on, how was I supposed to get through this? I walked through the dark halls of the high school alone, so unsure, step by step closer to the band room, a future unknown, impending fate. **Slowly, torturing, climbing that famed first hill known for intense stomach-in-mouth G-forces; changing my mind. But there was nothing I could do. **Reaching the end of the hallway, the sound of my flip-flops stopped. I was filled with uncertainty and this funny twisty feeling in my stomach. Should I go in? Did I need more time to prepare myself? I could take a detour to the water fountain. Maybe affirmations in the bathroom mirror would help. There was no clock in the hallway, but I knew I was pushing one o'clock. I did not want to be late and tarnish my reputation with these people before I even had one.

It was one of those "This is it" moments. One of those "Well, here it goes" instances. I gave in, surrendered, put up the white flag.

I stepped in; eyes swept across the blue tiers finally finding the group of soon-to-be-significant people at the front, surrounding the stereo system.

"Sweet, a siren!"

There was music playing from the stereo, and as Tammy the Drumline/Percussion Instructor waved, I did not realize what I was hearing would be drilled into my head, feet, hands, heart, and soul over the rest of the summer and fall. This was our show, and I having no previous experience in the slightest with marching band, thought it sounded as good as anything did. I pushed my sunglasses on top of my head, and pushed myself through my seconds-earlier desire to turn and run the other way. **I had almost reached the top of the hill. All I could do was breathe.**

I joined Charlotte and Tom, two of the six of us freshman, both of whom I knew only from band. Charlotte had been my friend for a few months, and she was outside of my "box" of real friends, but we were not terribly close. Tom was a nice kid who could make me laugh, and was approaching six feet. She greeted loudly and grabbed me, he waved and smiled. They would be part of a 'line' so to speak, of people I met that day who would change and who would change me. I looked around at the others, I knew two sophomore boys from elementary school, and that was it. I saw a tall, skinny guy, a gorgeous girl with curly black hair, a taller girl I noticed had cute espadrilles on, and some other girls. I stood, trying to control my shaking. With a sudden twist of fate, the band room-to-outside door opened with a flash of sunlight that outlined destiny. Enter life-changers One and Two.

In came a blonde guy with glasses and a floppy fishing hat. He smiled and waved a dorky but cute hello as the others greeted him. Immediately behind him was another someone. My eyes were on him as he walked in, shut the door without letting it slam, and turned back towards us. I was thinking to myself that he looked like my constant crush throughout junior high, but could not possibly be him, so who is it? Thoughts trickled through my head, a silent gasp. And then, a crashing wave of a feeling that I knew deep down had substantial meaning.

**To the top of the highest, unearthly hill, the part where you can see the entire amusement park and all the tiny people and the sky that you are obviously touching, when you pause a moment. Then straight down I plunged with inconceivable force. This was supposed to happen. This was **_**going **_**to happen. **

My stomach was in my throat; my heart might have stopped beating. The world dwindled, time slowed, there was no sound, I couldn't even tell if I was breathing. I hardly felt alive.

The funny thing, I was staring at this someone the whole time. The even funnier thing, he was staring back. All I noticed that happened was he stopped moving, as did I, and my insides squeezed up. I can not inform you of how long we both stood there, just staring, whether it was four seconds or forty, all the while me surprising myself for being so bold. I am not an eye-contact kind of person, and this was a huge accomplishment. I don't think I had any choice at this point; I couldn't tear my eyes away even if I wanted to. I call it the 'Tom Delonge "Fuckin Stare" Moment.' I did not even realize my fear of this situation had left me completely. We just...looked at each other. Something-at-first-sight - and I just knew.

**A rush of air, moving too fast to breathe it in. You have to know that you are okay; you have to keep your eyes open. You just fly forward, and trust the turns, dips, and loops as they are in front, upon and behind you, as you move with the machine helplessly. I would feel lame screaming, because no one else is, but I know I cannot handle this pressure.**

All of a sudden, it was over, and it was cliché movie-like, slow motion returns to present with a whooshing sound. We looked away; he started over toward dorky-cute-fishing-hat guy. I came back to reality all nonchalant, as if it was no big deal that I had a feeling, one that clearly stated I'd just discovered someone who would just maybe be a huge part of my changed life. Oh, I hoped it would be so.

Tammy gathered us in the four or so rows of old, blue, cracked chairs. The band room's blue tiered floor was clean for once in its long life, a fact pointed out by Gorgeous Sophomore. We received a CD of the show, each encased in cheap CD envelope "School colors; let's do... yellow for girls blue for boys." Which is just how Tammy is.

Time for formal introductions. Something I had to prepare myself for, figure out what I was going to say. Just goes to show how shy I am. We started up at the back with dorky-cute-fishing-hat guy, Mark Ridder, a senior. Next was the girl with cute espadrilles, Liz Motz, also a senior. It went around. Teresa the gorgeous sophomore, Dustin and Dan, familiar sophomores. A junior, Logan, tall and nerdy looking. Then it was Him.

I barely heard him through the roar of my personal delay. I heard him say Mitchell Brunick. He sounded like sand at the beach in the middle of the afternoon; waves crashed, clouds passed in a grey rainbow, the rush of infinity. A catch in his voice- oh what a catch.

It came around full circle, my turn. I turned away from the group. Facing forward as if maybe they could hear me better that way, head down, uncomfortably feeling all eyes on me.

"Carly Noyes, freshman."

A whisper of an impression, and they moved on.

I heard Mark behind me telling Motz that he wrote in his Xanga entry for the day that 'Drumline started of with a bang, hardy har har'.

Next were instrument assignments. Tammy began an explanation of how she would need a good marimba player as the pit percussion part was going to be difficult. She looked at Charlotte and me, both of us known to be good mallet players. Charlotte, who detests mallets, quickly squashed her blossoming idea.

"Uhhhmm, I don't really want to. I'll play cymbals or something, with Tom."

Unwillingly volunteered, Tom looked at her hard.

"Alright, Charlotte and Tom on cymbals."

Fingers crossed to be overlooked as well. Although, I was prepared to pay my freshman dues. Besides, what if I made a mistake on the line? Everyone would see and know.

Somehow, she moved past it.

"Motz, quads. Snare, snare," she pointed at Mark and Mitch. "Dustin, quads, Dan snare-"

Teresa Gorgeous Sophomore jumped in, "I guess I don't care, but I'd like to stay bass. It's kind of my baby."

Teresa got what she wanted, and was joined by Logan, Michael-who-is-living-in-California-right-now, and Billy-when-he-gets-back-from-his-lake-cabin.

"Then Carly, that leaves you for snare."

Wait WHAT?

**A severely unnatural twisty loop series shuffled me even further.**

Didn't only good players, only upperclassmen, only people with priority get snare? I didn't believe it. I voiced my curiosity aloud, asked her to reiterate, just to clarify. Besides, she had spoken quietly.

"Snare." She said simply. And that was that. As she handed out our music, I looked at the three songs with so many notes and rhythms and all I could do was take a deep breath. This was going to take much more commitment and work than I had originally planned, though there had not actually been much planning going on as I knew next to nothing about marching band. Nevertheless, I was determined. I would do this, even if I made every mistake possible, I would drive myself as far as I would go.

Charlotte and Tom were baffled by the strange markings on their cymbal scores, so Tammy went to help them and I was left alone as others regrouped by section.

"Hey you!"

I turned around and saw Mitch motioning for me to come over. He and Mark were getting drums from summer storage and tuning with drum keys. I stood and quietly responded 'Hey me' as I walked up and over listlessly.

**I think this is the part that goes upside down. You can see the sky, but it is not where it should be. Everything is the same; it is only you who is jumbled. There is no thought process except 'What the hell is going on?'**

He handed me a harness held together by duct tape. Freshman dues after all. They had already attached the drums, and so I put on a marching snare for they very first time in my life. It was awkward and heavy and I ripped my sunglasses off my head, threw them down on the floor, tried not to lose my balance. Tammy handed me the warm-ups, Mark, some sticks. He instructed the basic idea of Eight on a Hand. Mitch made sure I knew about the extra tap when we got down to One. Mark must have seen my nerves, and kindly offered to show me how.

He put on a concentrative face, cocked his head, beat two rim shots, and proceeded to drop his stick. He laughed, apologized and picked it up. Mitch turned to me and said, "Yeah first you have to drop your stick like that."

Just what I needed- an attempt at humor amidst this tension and terror. A look, a laugh,  
a smile, a second passed. It was genuine on both our parts.

Tammy called for us to mark time, which I felt stupid doing. We began the warm-up for real, and the beautiful tone of eight drums tapping and booming filled the room, reverberating off the empty spaces where chairs and people should be, and off the walls that had once been white, but now retained a yellowish color from 25 years of unadulterated band.

My amazement at being part of this, at being one of those taps, albeit clumsily, was warring with my concentration of staying together and ending correctly. I stumbled through Single-Hand Jingle, but we were done with warm-ups. Tammy started on arranging a cadence sequence, asking for last year's and picking one to attempt presently. Landing on You Agogo Girl, they started, and I stood and watched the simple enough pattern Mark was playing. He nodded and smiled, encouraging me to join, but just as I did, the rhythm changed and I lacked the knowledge to continue.

My journey was just beginning, but I barely recognized this fact through my basic shock. Practice was over, and I caught my hair on the screws as I took off the Harness from Hell. Still just as baffled as before, I walked over to a chair and sat on the top of it. Mark was saying something about Jesus loving drummers and putting "I don't want to know your name, I just want to Bang Bang Bang" on our section shirts. He asked if Mitch was going to be golfing hardcore this year, and Mitch nodded. I walked over to Charlotte.

"Hey whose sunglasses?" Mitch called. Grateful and somehow embarrassed, I quickly retrieved them and thanked him. People began leaving, I wanted to help put things away, but I had no idea where anything went. I sat and thought about nothing except my life in this room, as a future band geek. Teresa and Motz came over to me and considerately asked what I thought.

"Um... I think it's going to be okay. It seems...like fun." I waffled.

"Oh sure," Teresa's sarcastic comment and raised eyebrows saw right through me. "My first day I wanted to quit. My mom was like 'Fine, but you have to go tell Smitty yourself.' And that was even scarier, so I stayed."

Motz put an arm around her, "And we just have one piece of advice for you, that is, don't be a freshman whore."

"Yeah, for god's sake have the decency to wear more than a tube top and size xxx small shorts!"

I looked at Teresa and thought her much more likely to be a whore than myself. "Oh jeeze, don't worry about me." Just to clear that up.

She put her arm around me then, and assured me I'd have a good time and everything would be fine.

"Learn your music!" cried Tammy before the band room was completely empty. That was the last thing I heard as I walked out into the mid-day heat of June twenty-second.

I'm reaching farther than I ever have before 

It's some kind of feeling I get, my palms sweat, like a daydream I'll never forget .

--Blue October

* * *

A/N

365 days ago, and I still remember it perfectly. This day, today, exactly a year ago. According to my choir director, you remember things much better when they're associated with music. I know that this day will always be burned into my memory, because it was so significant.

I'm a little disappointed that I never wrote in my diary between this day and a little ways into August, because I don't remember what I felt, or what I thought about between those days. I know I was bored, I know that I practiced my music every day, to the point of memorization of two out of the three songs. I know that I thought about Mitch, all hopeless romanticisms of my constant junior high crush, Will, completely blown away. I know my fear drove me hard, fast, and far.

I realized that the reason there are so many MB stories about falling in love and shit, is because as I'm sure you all pretty much know, there is a certain bond that comes with people in band. Something just happens on that field sometime between Freshman Orientation and the Indoor Concert and Dinner. It's just so _easy _for that to happen. But that's NOT what this story is about, my "love life", because that's not the entire story of how marching band changed my life. It's just a part of it. And this is still basically an introduction.

I don't expect this story to be very much longer. It would be an impossibility to remember every single event of every single day of the entire season, though I do recall an awful lot. Besides, I don't want it to become a day-by-day autobiography. I want it to somehow show what marching band means to just one drummer that is part of something much bigger, in a slightly metaphorical, dreamy, detached, understandable kind of way. I would assume two more chapters, three at the most. But this is hard, and I don't know if I can do it anymore. Everything's changed, this season's about to start, and this finally seems like it happened a year ago. In short, the world has moved on, and I think it's time I do too. However, I need to get this shit down for myself before I truly forget it all, and lose a ridiculously important part of me. Hooray for contradiction.


End file.
